The Meaning of Years
by began-to-climb
Summary: The flowers had become routine, but today there were none. [MiSa, oneshot]


**Name: **The Meaning of Years

**Rating: **PG

**Summary: **Sara has always deplored Valentine's Day, eyes watching the couples that passed her, knowing she was long from that sensation. Then she met Michael Scofield and everything changed.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own these characters, or the song.

**Authors Note: **This story takes place three years after Michael escaped and it's Valentine's Day, obviously. Remember, there are three hundred sixty-five days in one year; you'll need that later.

XXXX

_If roses are meant to be red _

_And violets to be blue_

_Then why is my heart meant for you?_

_-Anouk, Lost_

The infirmary was quiet, destitute in its lack of human life. The normally busy prison division was deserted; the few inmates with excessive injuries that confined them to a recovery bed already asleep, their pupils darting rapidly underneath closed lids as they dreamt. The windows clenched and expanded rhythmically, the forceful wind from the storm crashing into the glass before it surveyed the prisoner's playground. Tumultuous clouds were built up in the east, the bleak melancholy blue spreading over the rest of the sky like a disease, a shadow trailing in its wake across the yard. The gray and green world darkened.

Sara Tancredi scanned the medical file in her lap, skimming the names of the man's living relatives and doctors, then slapped it shut and tossed it to the corner of the desk. It landed with a thud on the other files, bouncing against the wall and sliding further into place. She balanced her chin in her palm, sprinkling the tips of her finger's inches from her eye, and sighed. She leaned back in the swivel chair, ignoring the crackling squeak, and begged her body to relax. With a swift circumspect of the room, her eyes trained on the vase of flowers.

She'd placed the delivered bouquet on the window ledge to receive sunlight, retrieving a substitute vase to fill with water when they'd arrived, then forgot them. She'd been waiting half-heartedly for them, waiting for her father's annual plea to enjoy the day, to alleviate herself from the superfluous bitterness that she'd developed over the years. Each year she brushed him off, brushed off the man that he'd arranged to take her out, and watched a film in her home, cradling a bowl of ice cream as her eyes flickered to other things.

Her decision was her own and she liked how she spent the day created by Hallmark and chocolate companies. But sometimes, staring out at the scene from the prison window, she longed for a different day. She yearned to enjoy it with someone special, but she had to shake that desire off. Envy came in different shapes each year. She'd see a woman snuggled with a man, gripping his hand as she shrunk from a childish kiss, smiling radiantly through giggles, and her heart would crumble. Her head hung low, she'd fondle the item in her pocket and remind herself to wait.

The door suddenly opened; her head shot up, shattering her reminisce. Nurse Katie poked in, calling her attention. When she saw that redhead's awareness was centered on her, she entered fully. Her hand remained on the brass knob. "Do you want to catch a late lunch?"

Sara glanced at the clock on the wall. 5:45. She hinted at a smile.

"Or an early dinner?" Katie corrected with a smile.

"Is Pope letting us off?" Sara inquired. She crossed and uncrossed her legs uncomfortably.

"Yeah. It's a dreary day; no one has energy. It's been quiet."

"It has." Sara examined the room, exhaling.

Katie fidgeted. "So..?"

Sara switched up to Katie. "Okay." she caved.

Katie smiled and waited for Sara to gather her belongings. After shrugging off her one coat and slipping on another, she picked up her purse and put a couple items inside the pouch, opening the first drawer without thinking. She stopped, her hand poised to reach inside. Her breath snagged. She heard Katie ask her if she all right. She closed her eyes and snatched the origami flower, pushing it into her jacket pocket. She shuddered as se brushed the paper.

She adjusted her purse on her shoulder, fingering the ring of keys. "I'm good."

Before Katie could question her, she ushered the woman out and locked the office door, listening for the confirming click. "So…" Katie swayed, searching for the best way to bring up a certain popular topic around this time of the year. "Nothing from Mr. Secret Admirer this year?"

Sara brushed past her without an acknowledging look. She mumbled an answer. Katie's shoulders dropped. For the past two Valentine's Day Sara had been in good moods, the product of special gift from a signed admirer, but today she was like any other day. Distant and quiet, foregoing any actual conversation unless completely necessary. It hurt Katie to see her like this all the time. She tried to include her, but she kept pushing back, like if she got too close to anything or anyone she was merely setting herself up for pain and a broken heart. All this had started right after a group of inmates had broken out. Katie could only assume why Sara dodged the topic. Except, the flowers were the only things she had seen put a smile on her face.

The flowers had become routine on this day, but today there were none. Katie didn't know the specifics of the presents, didn't know what they said or what they meant, but she held faith that Sara knew. And she did. She kept most of it to herself, refusing to talk about it as her smile graced the world once again. It would always be something small—a flower or a note—and she knew it was him. It was the elegance and romanticism of the idea that made her heart pound. She'd run her hand over the exquisite cursive that signed '_Your Secret Admirer' _and smile, tears coming to her eyes from just having a connection to him after so many years. He hadn't forgotten her…hadn't forgotten them.

Michael Scofield was living up to his promise and it was working.

_Michael sauntered in, holding his palm over his eye, and seated himself. The gash over his eyebrow bled profusely, the blood dribbling over his eyes, catching on his long latches, but he didn't notice. He held the tissue Sara had handed him on the wound as he listened to her talk to the guard that had brought him in. She interrogated the man. Michael smiled to himself; she was concerned. He could hear it in her voice, how it strained against the cords in a maternal fashion. _

_The guard disappeared and she closed the door, trapping herself in with him. She didn't mind, nor did he. They didn't talk as she gathered the materials needed to remedy his injury. The intimacy between them that had evaporated, allowing both bodies to be close on a higher level that was invisible to the law, helped Sara relax. The bond they had threaded ran deeper than they had anticipated. A chain of lies, betrayal, and the impenetrable love for one another had tested their limits and they had succeeded in surviving, the connection lifting stronger. _

_Michael was the only inmate she allowed herself to relax with. Her care was tenderer and her words were softer than she would treat the other men with. She was on toes, alert and awake, with the other inmates for their hungry eyes made her shudder. Michael never tried. His respect for her collided with his want to get to know her on a personal level. He paid attention to the smaller details and, though he didn't have a clear reason for it, she opened herself to him. She scolded herself on being so vulnerable to him while he was clasped shut, how she told him whatever she felt needed to be known, but he put all his effort into keeping the tracks of his life discreet and in his hands. It wasn't fair, she realized, but one smile made her forget why she hated the idea. _

_She rolled her chair to him, noticing how he watched her with amusement. "Laugh all you want, Michael, but I don't have to bandage you up. I can let you leave like this." she threatened. _

_"No, you wouldn't." Michael refuted._

_Sara shrugged, choosing to let him believe what he wished. Their knees knocked together, Sara's knee climbing further up Michael's inner thigh. Neither pushed back. Sara reached for the tissue, folding her fingers over Michael's, and asked him to move his hand. He didn't oblige. She looked at him. The blue caught her off-guard. _

_"Please move your hand." He didn't respond. "Come on, Michael."_

_He smirked and dropped his hand, candidly resting both hands on her leg, spreading across the fabric. She didn't swat him away. She grabbed a swab and cleansed the wound, twirling the tip of the stick to absorb any dried blood dallying on his eyebrow. _

_He watched her diligent work, admiring the process. No matter what she always took care of him. He knew that it was her job, but she managed to heal him on an emotional level as well, whether they were fighting or not. He was grateful; maybe he'd tell her someday. "He didn't mean any harm, you know. It just got a little too rough." he explained. _

_"But you don't like him." Sara switched swabs without looking him in the face, plopping the bloody one on the silver tray. _

_"I don't." he verified. _

_"Yet that doesn't give you a reason to punch him, now does it?"_

_"He was talking about you." Michael exclaimed. "What was I supposed to do? Let him talk like that about you?"_

_"Yes." Sara said simply. _

_Michael shook his head. "I won't let him."_

_"Michael, it's sweet, but you can't protect me all the time. He could kill you."_

_Michael rolled his eyes. "He wouldn't."_

_"Look, I'm telling you this for your own safety. You don't want to make enemies in here. Especially with people like Theodore Bagwell. You know what he's done."_

_"Yes, mother." Michael grumbled stiffly. He swallowed the words he wanted to say, the words about how he couldn't listen to another word that pedophile said about her so he'd punched him and gotten retaliation. Sara shot a look at his statement. He sighed. "I understand that you're looking out for me."_

_"Yes. I don't want to see you dead. If you died, my days would be very boring."_

_"Thanks, Doc." _

_"Don't spread it around." Sara grasped the brown alcohol bottle and dumped it over hastily, plugging the end with a cotton ball. It retracted soaked thoroughly. She held it up in preparation, taking Michael's head in her other hand. She grazed his shaved head, the pricks tickling her skin. "This may hurt a little."_

_"Sara, I think I can—" He hissed suddenly. _

_Sara carefully dabbed the alcohol on the gash, but halted slightly at his intake of pain, the hiss curling out of his throat. His hands instinctively latched onto her wrists firmly, imprisoning her with him. They froze. The cotton ball fell from her hand. Michael's contorted face flattened out, loosing any trace of his action, upon hearing Sara's breathing shallow. She flexed her fingers, reviving feeling in the immobile limbs. He loosened his grip, releasing her wrists, and crept up her arm, lacing his fingers in hers. She shuddered. He stroked her knuckle, relishing the sight of her face. The touch sparked a storm in her body. The convulsions began._

_"You're trembling." Michael said, barely above a breath. "Are you okay?"_

_Sara closed her eyes and nodded, suddenly finding that the air was lodged in her lungs, incapable at processing because of his caress. She couldn't breathe, not if he would continue. Wishing for the sensations to go away, she knew this was the part of him that she detested the most. It had never been about him or his affection because she adored him and enjoyed the sensations; it was the part about telling him no, the part that forbid her from being with him, the part where her heart sank when he walked out of the room. It was the part where she turned her back on another opportunity for happiness that she hated the most about his visits. _

_It was the suppressed emotions and unsaid words. _

_Michael leaned forward, unaware that the heat from his body was causing the bliss in Sara to enhance, and brushed her hair out of her face before placing his hands on her waist. His breath crawled on her ear. _

_"Happy Valentine's Day." he whispered. Then he kissed her neck._

_"I hate the day." Sara insisted after a minute, holding his shoulders as his lips continued to shower the nape of her neck._

_She bit her lip and tried to collect her judgement, the same voice that would be screaming to make him stop before things went overboard if she could identify that half of her. That half, though, was buried, gone due to the want to keep Michael with her. He kept his lips on her skin, leaving a trail of butterfly kisses down her neck to her collarbone, and marveled the feel of his lips on her throat as she moaned._

_"You can't do this." Sara said to him. He flicked out his tongue and tasted her skin in response. "Please…we need to stop."_

_"Why don't you like this day, Sara?" he hummed._

_"Because…it's stupid…made by greeting companies. Besides,"—Her eyelashes fluttered—"I never have anyone to spend it with."_

_"You could." _

_The confession snapped back at Sara. She pressed her hands on Michael's shoulders and pushed them apart, breaking the contact. He stared confusingly at her, searching for an answer or a reason. She raised her hand to her forehead, grinding her teeth in annoyance at her own actions. She couldn't believe she let herself go that far. They were lucky no one walked in on them. She glanced at him. Had he just alluded that he could be that someone to spend Valentine's Day with? No, maybe not. Maybe she was just reading too much into it. _

_"That can't happen again, okay?" she stated clearly. He didn't say anything. "I'm going to put the bandage on you then you have to leave, okay?"_

_Cautiously, she maneuvered back to him and concentrated only on his injury. She couldn't look him in the eye. The spots his lips had touched were still warm, pulsing against her skin, begging for the warmth again. The tape of the bandage prepped to be planted on his head sticking to her fingers, retracing prints of her individual skin pattern, she lightly blew on the wound then she situated it over the gash. The blood and scar disappeared under the white cover. She smoothed out the tape, rubbing it with her thumb to stick firmer to his skin. _

_She turned away from him. "You may leave now." _

_He didn't say a word as he stood and walked to the door, hands in his pockets, then he stopped. "I'll change your mind. I'll show you what to today can mean. Just wait. I promise you."_

His promise had gone with him when he'd escaped. Sara had forgotten about it, pushing it to the back of her mind when he ran away. She figured that anything he said had been lies to get him what he needed, where he needed to be. If he wanted to play that game, she'd play along. His manipulation transformed into deceit so with him went her memory of him. She plunged into work, becoming a pertinacious woman on a warpath to cleanse her mind of him. She'd nearly flushed him out, only excerpts of scenes playing out in her mind on lonely nights, when the first one arrived.

She'd woken early that morning, a Friday, and had found a trio of pink carnations tied together by a ribbon on a stack of unfinished papers she'd abandoned on the nightstand by her bed, case reports she'd been too tired to finish. The small card with his handwriting said he missed her. She couldn't help herself but smile, resisting the tear in her eye. The flower was delicate in her hand, the petals breakable and fragrant. It was like glass, liable to shatter at any second. She kept the card after the flower perished.

"Sara? Are you listening to me?"

Sara blinked. A waiter darted off to the kitchen in the corner of her eye; her iced tea was in front of her, straw stabbed inside. She took a sip and looked at Katie. The woman held a glossy menu in her hand, opened to a section being closely examined, but had deterred from her decision to capture her friend's awareness. She snapped her fingers again, clicking in her face.

She tilted her head. "Are you okay? You've been very quiet today." Sara shrugged. Katie closed her menu, scooting it to the edge of the table, and leaned forward. "Does this have something to do with the secret admirer?"

"What? Katie, no. Why does it have to be that?" Sara declined.

"Every Valentine's Day for the past two years you've had a smile on your face. There's been nothing today. And I think it has something to do with the fact that there hasn't been anything here for you." She sighed. "I'm just worried about you."

"Don't be." Sara waved off.

"You're just not who you used to be. You rarely smile and you rarely talk. Whenever I see you, you're by yourself. You don't go out anymore, to benefits to charities or even dates. I just hate seeing you like this. I mean, you've been like this since Scofield broke out—"

"This has nothing to do with him."

"I'm not saying it does. It's just coincidental. Surely it's not all because he lied to you; hell, they lie to us daily. It's part of the job. I know you say he was different, but from what he did, how different was he? He still broke out like a con and still used you like one. You just fell into his trap, which is all I'm saying. I'd hate to know that this happened because of him. The last time I saw you smile was last February."

This was true. Michael had somehow slipped a yellow lily into her morning paper so when she poked out of her apartment in her robe, coffee in her hand, the aroma floating into the hall that was lit by the warm sunlight, and picked up the bundled packet, the lily tumbled out, sailing to the ground at her feet. She giggled and pursed her lips, retrieving the flower. She fit it behind her ear, blended with her hair, and went back inside. The card said he wanted to see her; she put it with the previous year's card.

"I won't lie to you, Katie, I am partially disappointed this year."

"You still don't know who the mystery person is?"

Sara hesitated, the reluctance to answer dragging too long for an accurate belief. "No."

Katie deposited her chin in her hand. "I can't believe that after three years this person hasn't come up to you."

Sara raised her eyebrows. "Yeah. Talk about courageous."

"Maybe he's afraid."

"What's so hard about saying hello? About coming forth? Haven't I waited long enough to see him?" Katie shrugged. "Hey, I'm not feeling so good. I think I'm going to take off for the night."

"Are you sure?" Sara nodded. "Okay, I'll see you in the morning."

XXXX

The dense streetlights blazed past in a trance, flying into a vision of blended colors. Blue meshed with black, yellow clashed with white…the red of lit-up vehicles on the side of the road, selling chocolates and flowers for late notice Valentine's Day shoppers, shown brightly on the corners. The very sight made Sara sick to her stomach, her dulled eyes targeting one object and following it as they drove past, the pedestrian dying away slowly.

She eased her car to a crawl, her blinker clicking on the speedometer, and turned into the parking behind her apartment building, plunging into the lower level with covered parking. The soft music buzzing from her radio shut off instantly as she extinguished the engine, cutting off the roar of a muscled car. She stepped out, snatching her purse from the passenger seat, and punched the button. The car head and taillights beeped, winking twice to confirm that the vehicle was securely locked. She waltzed across the damp pavement, gripping the purse strap, and pushed open the glass door. The bright lobby welcomed her with open arms.

The ride home had been quiet, silence circling the interior except for the occasional radio DJ giving a shout-out to a caller, playing their requested song. The lullabies were remedies for her thoughts. Her mind swirled around for a reason why Michael hadn't sent her anything. It was unlike him. She scoffed. How would she know? Wasn't everything he told her a lie? Maybe, maybe not. She wanted to believe him, believe what he said, but in the end he was a criminal and will always be a criminal. What made her think he would feed her a promise he intended to keep? She didn't like empty promises, and this was the first time he had given her one.

The arrow button pointed upward was lit, calling for the elevator that was rested on the fifth floor. It dinged as the box made it's slow descent. Sara closed her eyes, imagining her warm bed. She could go take a hot shower then curl into bed. She'd sleep, passing out as soon as she felt the pillow; the drain exhausting her bones so her limbs were heavy.

Someone tapped her shoulder. She turned to see the perpetrator and found a man, adorned in the fill employee uniform. He cleared his throat. "A man came in and asked that I give this to you, Dr. Tancredi."

Sara's eyes traveled to his outstretched hand. He contained an origami crane in his open palm. She tentatively took the offering and ran her fingers along the edges, admiring the craftsmanship of the folds and contours. Only one man she knew did origami. Was he here? Was he in the building? Her head shot up, zeroing in on the numbers above the elevator doors. The elevator had picked people up on the third floor and had yet to leave. She groaned. It was slow, too slow. She threw open the door leading to stairs. She jogged, taking two steps at a time, to reach the second floor, not stopping until the large two beckoned the end of her run.

She smoothed out her pants and opened the door, coaching herself to breathe. The hall was the same, nothing abnormal about it. The same blue carpet and red stripped wallpaper. The same window at one end and table at the other. The same number of apartments on each side of the hall. Everything was in place. Sara felt the hope fleet her heart, realizing that nothing exciting was happening here. _Oh well, _she consoled. She dug her keys out of her purse and unlocked the door.

She stepped into the dark, the lights of the city only lighting half the rooms as it beamed in, taking upon shapes. She turned back around and switched on a lamp before locking the door, bolting it twice and slipping on the chain to assure herself. Her toes met the floorboard, striking a ballerina's pose; her heel tapped something. She froze. Carefully, she turned around. Her hand flung to her mouth.

The living room had been converted to a field of roses, the bight red clashing against the dark demeanors of the home, standing out. She stood, stricken, in the small space provided for her at the door, creating a half-circle that barely gave her enough room. The fragrance of the roses hung strongly in her nostrils, smelling of sweetness. The sight reduced her to tears. Her hand shook at her lips, parted to enable breathing, the tears flowing down her cheeks. She couldn't believe this.

Her eyes traveled the periphery of the field, seeing that some were even placed on tables and the couch. Michael Scofield loomed in the center of the field. He had his hands nervously bulged in his pockets, the ocean blue studying every change of facial expression as she progressed all of it. Her face changed repeatedly, turning from shock to overwhelmed to pure happiness.

She put her hand over her heart. "Michael…" she whispered. She managed to maneuver to him, stepping lightly in the cracks between bunches. She found herself in front of him. He looked handsome, the smile fitting his tanned face.

"One thousand ninety-five roses, Sara." he explained in one breath. His hand cradled her arm. She trembled. "One for every day I've thought about you since I left."

Sara sniffed, taking in the meaning of the confession. How had he done this? This was so beautiful. "Every day for three years." she clarified.

Michael nodded and kissed her. Their lips brushed together, finally able to act on a love they both felt. Sara wound her arms around his neck, feeling the goosebumps rolling up her spine. She drew back and pressed her forehead to his. Her nail grazed his ear. They closed their eyes, intaking the new found declaration, the spawning of a new age.

"You're trembling." Michael observed.

They smiled ghostly, remembering the first. Sara took his hand and cupped it over her heart. Michael's eyes widened slightly for only a second.

"Your heart's beating so fast." he whispered.

Sara nodded. "I always get like that when I'm with you." Michael smiled, a tint of red rising on his cheeks. Sara hugged him, attaching herself to him, and looked around again. She still couldn't believe he did this…all for her. "Thank you for this. You don't realize how miserable I've been."

"You don't have to ever again." Michael kissed her head tenderly, wrapping his arms around her.

"Are you going to stay?" she asked gingerly. Michael smiled. "Good."

The flowers had become routine on this day, but today she got a field of them.

XXXX

FIN


End file.
